


Those Damn Lesbians

by ShadowBlazer



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowBlazer/pseuds/ShadowBlazer
Summary: [Rock Band AU Oneshot] Catra started her own rock band to establish herself, but life keeps throwing her together with a certain blonde she’s trying to forget.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	Those Damn Lesbians

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Halifax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halifax/gifts).



> Inspired by that one meme and a funny line from a Reddit post about astronaut Anne McClain: “Those damn lesbians and their space crimes!”
> 
> Special thanks to Halifax for all of her help in beta reading.

Catra’s band should have never made it to a second show.

They slap on a name concocted during a drunken jam session, and Catra doesn’t recall it until she’s on-stage, squinting at Entrapta’s neon-lit sign blinking the words, “Those Damn Lesbians.”

It’s even worse when Catra starts shredding along the guitar and opens her mouth to sing when she realizes the song is called, “Space Crime,” and their opening line is “Those Damn Lesbians and their space crimes,” while the next one to come up is named, “The Anti-pope.” Catra promises to never let Scorpia name a song again.

She spots a pretty blonde with eyes the colour of a clear sky looking up at her, and Catra puffs out her chest, starts shredding on her guitar even though the song doesn’t have a solo, and her band members are looking at her funny.

The blonde shoots her a dorky thumbs up right before some tiny Asian girl with pink hair touches her shoulder and leans in for a kiss. Catra immediately scowls, her solo screeching to a stop, and she stomps off to the other side of the stage to avoid the scene. Still, a thought lingers in her mind that the blonde looks as familiar as Catra’s own reflection, but the next song comes on and the idea is immediately brushed to the back of her mind.

They make it through their set list to actual applause, which stuns Catra long enough for her band members to drag her off and split the paltry amount of money between them. 

Catra stuffs the bills down into her jean pocket as fur prickles on the back of her neck. She turns to see the blonde from earlier slowly coming across the parking lot when her thoughts click together—

Shit, it’s—

“Adora,” the short Asian girl darts her eyes from the band to her blonde girlfriend. “Why are we here?”

Adora doesn’t hear her. Her gaze locking onto the guitarist leaning against the beat-up van door. Her breathing catches, the slight rise of her chest, and Catra hates how she can still spot it all these years past. “Catra.”

Catra lazily raises a hand. “It’s been a while.”

Adora stares, colour rising on her cheeks, and Pinkie notices. She glares at Catra and shuffles closer to Adora, grabbing her arm. Pinkie bristles. “Who are you?”

Catra raises an eyebrow. “The person on stage you were watching all night?”

Adora exhales. “I was.” She ignores Pinkie’s smack on her arm while Catra smirks, pretending that admission does not send flutters from her brows to her toes. 

“So, should we continue where we left off?” Catra slips her hands into her pockets and approaches them, purring. “Hey, Adora.”

Entrapta ruins every moment. She rushes forward, cutting off Catra mid-stride. “If you like us, support us!” 

Scorpia lumbers over too, punching in their Instagram account that Catra didn’t know they had on Adora’s phone. She then shoves a bunch of swag into Pinkie’s hands. 

“Come to our next shows! I’ve uploaded all the times and locations directly onto your device!” Entrapta twirls around on one foot. “Oh, it’s like a dream to go travelling and play music with my two best friends.”

Adora looks up at Catra, who pointedly glances away. “Best friends, huh?” She turns back to Entrapta, voice softening. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.” 

Catra waits for the pair to leave, hearing Pinkie’s voice rise in pitch the longer Adora stands there, uselessly staring at her. When at last their footsteps die away, Catra sighs and pushes herself off the cool side of the van. “I’m going to sleep.”

Scorpia glances up, gaping slightly. “But what about our traditional post-show party?”

Catra opens into the vehicle, waving it off. “Not feeling it tonight. Have fun without me.” 

She settles into the cot made up at the back when she feels the van lurch. Glancing over her shoulder, she spots Entrapta and Scorpia climbing in after her. “What are you two morons doing? I said go party without me.”

They look at each other before Entrapta turns to smile at her, expression gentle. “We decided we’re tired too, and we could also use some rest.”

“S’not the same without you, Wildcat.” 

“Fine. Suit yourselves.” Catra turns her back on them, hoping they don’t notice the lack of bite in her tone.

Scorpia whispers as they settle in for the night, “We love you too, Catra.”

The next morning, Catra and the band travel across the landscape in their van that Entrapta rigs up. It has a lot more cables and wires than Catra thinks is necessary crisscrossing the inside, but Entrapta insists that it’s the best way to keep up with their Twitter and Instagram on the move. The van rattles like crazy, and it freaks Catra out so much that she keeps a jar of earplugs by her bed whenever she needs to sleep. Or ignore Entrapta. And Scorpia.

Their first show, they opened for a band at a rock show without anyone knowing who they are. Scorpia is shaking hands with the manager who gets them free beer as a reward for killing time as the main attraction warms up.

Ouch.

Catra gets so steamed that she stomps out onto stage, grabbing her electric acoustic guitar and plopping herself in front of the microphone. The members of the other band shout at her to get off stage, but they fall silent when Catra strums the first few bars, the soft rasp of her voice growing dreamy, wistful. She plays her best song, the one she wrote when Adora left in the hope that they would secretly reconcile. That Adora would tell her that she wanted her first and foremost.

That was five years ago.

Adora never chased after her.

The last few notes of the bittersweet song lingers in the air, the audience pausing as if absorbing the feeling before breaking out into applause and cheers. Catra stands and bows before exiting, the other band staring at her while Entrapta jumps up and down at the side of the stage, having already recorded and uploaded the clip to their Instagram.

Catra snorts, grabs one of the beers, and sits back to watch the next band struggle to follow up with her song. Scorpia pokes at her until Catra rolls her eyes and fist-bumps her, and their self-appointed manager grins, nearly knocking Catra off of her chair when she returns the bump.

She scans over the crowd, boredly noting the typical scrawny college kids, the potheads, the eclectic group of old and young attendees who show up just to listen to their favourite bands. Her eyes catch a glimpse of blonde hair in the front, the sight of a neatly pinned hair poof causing Catra to crumple the beer can in her hand.

“Oh geez, Catra! Gotta be careful.” Scorpia throws her a handful of napkins from a nearby table. “Yeah, these things are fragile.” She demonstrates by squeezing her can, forgetting that it is full.

Catra hurls the wad of tissues back at a sputtering Scorpia before glancing back into the crowd. She turns around, one corner of her lip curling. “I’ll be in the van.”

Catra retreats after each performance, gaining a reputation amongst her fans as the broody and mysterious member of the group. Which, to be fair, is accurate, as she does brood a lot.

“Catra is moping again!” Entrapta announces from the front of the van, squealing in glee when Scorpia makes a sharp turn along the edge of a cliff.

“I’m writing our next song,” Catra snarls, guitar in hand.

“Same thing!” Entrapta punches in something on her calculator. “By my calculations, we experience a 300% increase in revenue whenever you release a melancholy song. Also, there is a 1000% increase in requests from female fans asking after you.” Entrapta’s brows furrow. “Interesting.”

“Tell them my only love is music and the sea.” Catra doesn’t look up as she tunes the guitar.

“But you hate water.” Scorpia turns her head, and Entrapta shrieks as the van nearly goes plunging off the road. “Whoops! My bad. Easily distracted and everything.”

“That’s the point. Give them a front, and they’ll never know the real you.” Catra plucks a string.

“Oooh, you really pull off that broody and mysterious vibe,” Scorpia cheers. “No wonder you get so many babes.”

Catra rolls her eyes and goes back to composing the melody. She has steadfastly refused to respond to requests, emails, and tagged photos of her by her adoring fangirls, some of which literally throw themselves at her when she walks past. Odd how Catra would have revelled in all the attention years ago, but the star-struck gazes leave her mouth feeling like there’s ash in her tongue as she stalks by, wishing for the look of one particular girl in the world.

“Still Hung Up on You” explodes as their newest single, and Catra quickly grows to dread how often she has to repeat the blurb Scorpia wrote when pressed by fans and interviewers about the inspiration for the song.

“Old flames just never really die, do they?” Catra flicks her hair over her shoulder, giving the interviewer a side glance, and the woman sighs. “In the darkness of our hearts, they burn softly, shyly—eager to burst into life once more like wildfire across the kindling of buried affection.”

Okay, maybe Catra spiced up Scorpia’s words a bit. It was worth it if the immediate swoon from the interviewer was an indicator of Catra’s charm. The smile quickly disappears off of her face when their Twitter blows up with fans quoting Catra’s stupid lines.

Catra hurls herself onto her bed. “Ugh, I sound like a tool.”

Scorpia glances over, giving her an odd look. “You sound like a poet. A secret romantic.” Her face lights up. “Ooh! You should put that line in one of our songs!” She looks so proud of herself.

Catra rolls her eyes, but they start with a new song the next time they play: “Letters from the Secret Romantic”. A song formed of letters never sent, wishes half-spoken, desires suppressed, but the speaker doesn’t voice her dreams. And in the end, her love goes away, unknowing that she was loved in the end.

It climbs up the charts like a rocket, and Catra wants to claw out her ears from having to sing it for all of their shows for the rest of the tour.

And Adora shows up at every single one. Front row and centre.

At the end of the fifth one or so when Catra stands in the empty parking lot behind a club to get away from fans and band members, Adora appears. She takes her place by Catra’s side on the van’s hood as if she always belonged there.

“What are you doing here?” Catra is just tired. Adora’s always had more stamina than her, would always outlast her in any race they did together. “Aren’t you missing your plus one?”

Adora tenses her shoulders. “Glimmer and I broke up.”

“With your stalker issues, I get why.” Catra snorts and when Adora continues staring at the ground, the singer turns away, voice softening. “You were never good at keeping girlfriends, Adora.”

“I wanted this one to work.” Adora shakes her head. 

Catra sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Then, you should have known to let go. You need to stop looking back at what might have been.” 

“Can you blame me when I lost so much?”

“Like what?” Catra sneers. “You got your precious scholarship, your ticket to fame. Upcoming Olympian. Best young fencer the world has ever known. Seems to me that you got everything you wanted.” She sighs, sitting back against the windshield. “Shadow Weaver was right. You did do so much better without me.”

Adora grabs her wrist, and Catra bristles at the touch. “That’s not true. None of what she said was!” 

Catra rips her hand away. “And what was, Adora? Because it sure as hell wasn’t your statement that you’ll never leave me!”

“I asked you to come.” Adora blinks back wetness in her eyes. “You chose to stay.” 

“Yeah, well.” Catra shrugs. “Maybe I believed our foster mother. Look at how you turned out.” She exhales and hops off the hood of the van. “You better go and beg your ex to take your back. If you kiss her feet long enough, she might let you sleep in the doghouse.”

Adora calls her name, and, despite herself, Catra looks back. Adora looks miserable plastered against the windshield. “I’m sorry I never came back for you.”

“Too little, too late, Adora.” Catra turns around, feeling something lift in her chest, though she can’t pinpoint what it is. “Hope your next girlfriend works out better.’

Catra returns to the club without another glance behind her.

The next day, a picture of her and Adora sitting on the van comes out all over the internet. Adora’s face is turned towards Catra, so you can’t fully see it, but her stupid hair poof is distinctive enough that rumours burst across socia media like wildfire.

“You’re dating Adora?” Scorpia gasps, cornering Catra in their van. “Isn’t that the fencing Olympian? Ooh, ooh! Can you get me an autograph the next time you see her?”

Catra snarls and hurls a pillow at Scorpia who catches it easily. 

“Sheesh. Can just say no, Wildcat.”

“Why does she take everything away from me? Everyone’s talking about her and not about--” Catra heaves, reeling. 

“Us?” Scorpia steps over, laying one claw on Catra’s back. “Are you okay?”

Catra turns her face away. “I just wanted something of my own.” She refuses to say anymore, despite Scorpia’s coaxing. That doesn’t stop her from writing another hit song the next day that soars the top of the charts.

“Monsters” is an angsty ballad with furious guitar riffs, and Catra doesn’t understand why it’s so popular. “God, I’m gonna play that song until I die.” Catra throws herself face down into a hotel bed, the band’s funds starting to build enough that they can splurge for one once in a while. “Should have never wrote it,” she mutters into the covers.

“I think it’s your best one yet, Catra.” Scorpia looks over from the nearby table where she’s having dinner with Entrapta, who makes her own food since she insists on eating unusually tiny things. “It’s got great hooks and a catchy beat.” 

“Plus, it catches a lot of attention on social media.” Entrapta pours over her phone. “H. Prime likes it on Instagram, Lady Brightmoon...even Adora the Olympian likes it.”

Catra shoots up. “Adora likes it? I mean, I don’t care.” She flops back down into the bed, quiet for a moment before she asks, “Did she say anything about it?”

“‘Give it a go. It’s a beautiful song’,” Entrapta reads aloud. “That’s sweet of her!

“We can play that as our first song at the next concert.” Scorpia nods. “Shout out to her.”

Catra groans, burying her face in a pillow. Adora will follow her wherever she goes.

They prep for their final show at the base of the Sea Gate in Mermista’s kingdom. Catra’s dying in the dressing room, having spent the entire week hyped up on energy drinks. 

Scorpia gently shakes her. “We’re going to be on in an hour. Can’t have you dead yet.”

Catra mutters murderously face-down into the pillow on the couch. She holds her hand out and feels a cold, hard cylinder get slapped into her palm. She opens the drink immediately and chugs it down, nearly choking before she empties the can, burping slightly and dropping the container to the ground. “Ugh, I am going to sleep for a week when this is over.” 

Entrapta looks over from where she sits at the vanity table. “You should probably see a doctor too for all of the liver damage you incurred.”

Catra waves her off as she hauls herself upright. “Yeah, yeah.” 

“Hey, what’s with all the nerves?’ Scorpia looks around them. “We made it pretty far for damn lesbians, huh?”

Entraptra hums. “Technically, I’m not one, but I’m in it for solidarity.”

Catra rubs her forehead where she can feel a migraine starting. “Let’s just get this show done with.”

“Oh, Catra.” Scorpia goes to a corner of the room where a delicately-wrapped box sits. “Adora dropped this off for you. She’s so cool. I even got her autograph.” When Catra doesn’t move to take it, she shifts. “If you aren’t going to open it, can I?”

Scorpia carefully unwraps the gift somehow with giant pincers, and inside is a faded letterman that has clearly been worn many times. She gasps, “Adora’s jacket! This is worth a fortune!”

Catra sits up, throat tightening. “Give it here.” Scorpia passes it over, and Catra buries her face in the wool and leather, recalling the last time she held it, she threw it back at Adora, shouting with tears streaming down both of their cheeks. “That idiot.”

Scorpia sits down on the couch. “Do you need a hug, Wildcat?”

Catra shakes her head. “Just be here.”

Someone gingerly touches Catra on the shoulder on her other side, and she looks up to see a curl of Entrapta’s hair hovering near her. Entrapta clears her throat. “I heard that some find physical touch comforting at a time like this. I figured I would give it a try.”

Catra drops her head, but she’s unable to stop her smile. “You idiots.”

An hour later when they go on stage, Catra strutting forward at the head of the band with Adora’s jacket on her back. The crowd thunders louder than they ever have at the sight of her, and Catra spots Adora at the front as always, looking struck with her mouth gaping, eyes wide at the sight of Catra wearing her jacket.

For two hours, the band is an explosion of emotions with Scorpia sounding like a 21-gun salute on her drums, and Entrapta’s fingers waltzing across her keyboard like a virtuoso. Catra leaps and bounds across the stage, bellowing and crooning into the microphone in turns, fingers shredding along the steel strings of her guitar, and Adora never lets her gaze slide from her once. Something in Catra’s chest cracks, like a pair of massive iron gates creaking open, like a frozen waterfall starting to thaw.

She finishes her last solo, spotting Adora below her, and gives up. She takes off her guitar, letting Scorpia take it as she holds her arms out for one long moment before falling forward into Adora’s arms.

The crowd goes wild, screaming and thumping so loud around her, Catra can’t make out what Adora’s saying, only seeing the movements of her mouths as Adora carries her to one of the side doors. She promptly passes out and wakes up in a hotel room that’s nicer than her own, practically a suite with a kitchen and soft sheets that feel like heaven on Catra’s back.

“Even her service is better than mine,” Catra murmurs.

A hand touches the back of her head, gently scratching the base of one ear. “Hey, Catra.” Adora’s voice rumbles. “You looked amazing up there.”

“I damn well better with all the liver damage,” Catra sighs, sitting up. She scrubs her face. “Why are you following me?”

Adora glances away. “What can I say? I’m your biggest fan.” She shifts closer, eyes glittering in that way that always catches Catra’s breath. “I liked Monsters,” she says softly. “‘The monsters in the dark are never as big as the monsters in our hearts.’” 

Catra snorts. What an overdramatic line. She should revise it. “Thanks.” She stands, feeling Adora nearly reach for her. “I should head out.”

“Do you have to go back already?” Adora’s voice trembles slightly in the way that Catra knows will have her crumbling if she stays any longer. “We could just talk like we used to.”

“That’s the problem. We’re not in the past anymore. And I’m sure you don’t need more rumours about you spreading.” Catra certainly doesn’t. “So, yeah. See you, Adora.”

Catra steps towards the door, but Adora grabs her wrist. “Why do you always run away when we’re about to discuss something big? I don’t remember you being such a coward.”

A jarring note strikes Catra, like an out-of-tune string being plucked. She whips around, snarling. “I wasn’t the one who tried to leave without saying anything!” She rips her hand away. “Why do you insist on coming back and taking everything away from me?”

Adora sputters, “I haven’t done anything!”

“Accolades, praise, Shadow Weaver’s regard.” Catra jabs her in the chest with each item, rage roiling beneath her skin, in the hot air in her chest. “Scholarships, clothing, and now even the fame I’ve worked for. Why can’t you just let me be happy without you?”

“Because I’m not happy without you!” Adora bursts out. “I still think of you every time I close my eyes.”

Catra stares, noting the flush in Adora’s cheeks, the tightness in her jaw. She hates how she can read every tic and movement in that face so perfectly. “Should have thought of that before.”

“What do you want me to say? I made a mistake? I didn’t, and you know it but I am sorry I left you behind. How many times do you need me to say it before you listen?” Adora gently runs her hands up Catra’s arms, soothing the hairs starting to stiffen. “I’m sorry for leaving you, Catra. You were the only thing I wanted to take with me.”

Catra looks away, feeling the warmth and weight of Adora’s touch on her arms, like a comforting blanket. She’s silent for a long moment before she shakes her head. “That’s the problem. We’re different people with different goals. You have to go your own way, and I need to go mine. That’s just who you are.” 

Adora bites her lip. “Do you want me to stop being me?”

Catra scoffs softly, kicking something off of the ground. “You would if I asked you, but there’s no point, Adora. You need to be you. Even if it means losing me.” 

“Why do you always think this way? It’s either black or white with you. Win or lose. Why can’t we compromise and have both?”

Catra throws her hands up. “You don’t get it, Adora! This was my chance to make something of myself, to prove that I can stand out from under your shadow, that I could be someone without you. That I don’t have to be with you to survive, to thrive. That one day I’ll stop fucking thinking about you and how much it hurt to lose you. How much it still does.” Like a bleeding wound that never stops.

Adora’s mouth falls open. “You still think about me?” she says softly.

“Was that all you heard?” Stupid Adora and her selective hearing. Catra tries to sneer, cheeks burning. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.” Adora’s face flushes a dark red, but the air between them thickens with a heat that has Catra suddenly sweating.

“Umm…” Catra replies, intelligently. “Right.”

Adora steps into her space, hands coming to rest on Catra’s hips, eyes flicking over her form, and Catra swallows, gaze shifting towards the bed. “You could stay for the night, and we could keep talking about it.” She catches the direction of Catra’s glance. “Or something else.”

Catra closes her eyes, trying to catch her thoughts scattering away before managing to snag one that lingers around. “No.”

There’s silence for a long moment before Adora steps back, the warmth instantly leaving the room. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume anything.” Her voice is tidy, polite.

Opening her eyes, Catra winces at the sheer devastation on Adora’s face. She was never good at hiding how she felt. “No, Adora. I meant…” She looks away, buying time. “I don’t want to fuck around. If we’re doing this again.”

Adora stares before a wide grin overtakes her. “Y-yeah? I can deal with that.”

“Don’t let this get to your head.” Catra snorts even as Adora slips both hands into hers, the touch familiar and warm—heat spreading up Catra’s wrist, arm, and into her chest where it nests like a welcomed glow. “I’m just saying we can talk about it.”

Adora smiles.

Catra can’t stand the brightness of her expression. She turns and grabs the remote from a side table, turning on the TV, watching the news capture her brilliant decision to fall into Adora’s arms. “I can’t escape you, no matter where I go.”

A warmth against her back, Adora pressing a kiss against her cheek. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”


End file.
